Unmasked- Act 1- Issue 4- The Beat
by Thedude2222
Summary: A Gotham novel detailing the end of the legend of Batman.


**Issue 4:**

The Beat

Aaron Cash adjusted his belt as he walked the damp halls of Arkham Asylum. On duty in the minimum security ward Cash found the night relatively quiet. It was a thankless job but Cash took solace in the fact his family stayed a little safer with every crazy locked up in here. Some of the inmates spoke to him; others simply glared while he slowly completed his rounds. Some were dirty, some were disfigured, some were beautiful, but every one of them knew Aaron Cash. As he rounded the last corner he saw the furthest cell on the right waiting. It was the only cell he dreaded passing in the night.

Gotham inflicted plenty of pain and hardship on its citizens, but there was another layer of anguish Cash dealt with as a black man. A few people called him names holding obvious disdain, and these were the easy ones to avoid, ignore, or report. So many others though held back, expected less, patronized, or were all around uncomfortable with him. Somehow these people hurt the worst. They made him feel as awkward as they were. On the other hand he dealt with plenty of family or friends in the black community who treated him differently after his choice to join law enforcement. Some even threw out phrases like "race traitor" or the one he hated most, "house n*****". In his mind he just felt like a regular person with hopes, fears, and needs.

Nothing in Arkham made him feel as bad as walking by her cell. She was white and stood over six feet tall. Her blonde hair and blue eyes couldn't detract from the mass of muscles on her frame. Prison tattoos covered her arms and back consisting of mostly swastikas and men's names most crossed out. She performed pushups on the filthy floor sweating profusely before she noticed his boots.

"Well if it ain't the king of all coons. What brings your lazy, black ass down my way?" Bruno asked as she stood and approached the bars.

"Making rounds as usual. Anything happening on the block?" Cash asked ignoring her bait.

"Yeah there's a n***** out of his chains walking around on two legs like he's a man," Bruno continued.

"I read something that made me think about you, Bruno. It was a quote by Arnold Schopenhauer. He said, 'The discovery of truth is prevented more effectively, not by the false appearance things present and which mislead into error, not directly by weakness of the reasoning power, but by preconceived opinion, by prejudice.' Thought it fit you pretty well," Cash stated.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked puzzled.

"It means you're a dumb bitch." Roaring and pounding Bruno raged against the bars of her cell.

"Nobody calls me dumb! Specially not one of you!"

"You know why I hate you, Bruno? It isn't because you're white. It isn't even because you're a racist. It's because you're sporting that stupid flat top haircut. You look like Jean Claude Van Damme with tits." Cash laughed to himself as he walked away. Bruno's incoherent screams receded in volume. After rounds Cash picked up the game box and dragged a chair over to a nearby cell.

"What do you say, Signalman?" Cash asked as he sat down next to the door. The old man sat across from him divided by the bars. There was nothing extraordinary about the Signalman, Phillip Cobb, and that was exactly the problem when he tried to become a supervillain so many years ago. He suffered from no skin condition that turned him into a reptile or an acid burn across half his face. More likely than not it is what first drove him to become a famous criminal. A simple desire to be known and recognized exists in everyone. It wasn't until Batman's light in the sky that he saw the truth of words, shapes, and symbols.

"I say life is a blessed gift that we sour and poison by our own actions." Phil replied contently.

"Are you reading philosophy again?" Cash hesitated.

"Not at all. You know it's a strict diet of supernatural, young-adult novels for me from here on out."

"Good because when you get into your signals and signs we lose you somewhere. Then I don't have anyone to game it with."

"You know as well as I do I'm three weeks past the date the doctors gave me to live. You're going to need a new partner whether you like it or not and sooner rather than later."

"You could have another three years as far as we know. Those doctors can only guess." Cash pulled out a game from the box and began to set it up on the table.

"Connect Four? It's all you want to play anymore."

"It's the only thing I can ever beat you at, old man." So they played and talked about nothing in particular until Phil dropped the winning red checker.

"Aaron I know it's not my business to speak on such things, but with age I've realized how many mistakes I've made. I wish I could ask forgiveness from so many people which I suppose is a pretty normal feeling, but more than that I wish I could forgive those people who never asked me for it, who never deserved it."

"Why?"

"For the same reason Jesus mingled with the gamblers and the whores, because they're the ones who need it the most. Do you understand what I'm getting at?" Phil motioned towards the game board, "Do you see it?" At first Cash didn't see it, but then it fell into place like that winning checker. Phil had completed a cross with his winning move and must have heard about his run-in with Bruno already. He felt indignation and anger at the thought. Swiftly he rose and cleared the board.

"You're right. It's not your place."

"Wait, I'm sorry," Phil began but Cash shook his head.

"I don't see anything but a confused, old man who needs his rest." Cash proclaimed and left. But he saw it.

On the way back to the security room an emergency code went out signifying a breakout at cell 417. His stomach dropped and he ran as fast as he could down the hall. Rounding a corner he nearly ran into a young guard named Collins coming the other way.

"Thank God, Cash. They told me to get help. She- she started a fire in her cell which auto-released the damn door. She snapped Steve's neck!"

"Help anyone who's injured but stay away from her," Cash responded as they neared the cell. Shouts and a deep bellowing could be heard. Bruno fought two guards, one in each baseball glove-sized mitt. She threw both into opposite walls when she saw Cash coming down the hallway.

"Just the kike dog I wanted to see." Bruno said with a maniacal grin. Something finally snapped in Cash after that. He walked forward slowly and snapped his baton open. Bruno came on swinging but Cash sidestepped and struck her in the shin as hard as he could. Falling to one knee she reared back to swing again, but he struck her with the butt of the stick on the nose. When he felt it snap under the blow Cash was surprised at his own satisfaction. From this point on with his opponent mostly immobilized and blinded Cash dropped his baton and used his fist. Punch after punch landed and when she fell he straddled her and continued the assault. Every strike he wished it was his hook hand stabbing her in the heart.

Eventually some guys pulled him off with his hand smashed and bleeding and Bruno looking even worse. Sheepishly one explained they figured Cash wouldn't want to live with her murder on his hands and they were right. However in the moment half the men voiced an opinion that he had every right to kill her. Steve Birkenhauer, the man whose neck was snapped, had been a well-liked man on the block. He had two children and although a bit corny sometimes always meant well. When Cash thought about the pictures in Steve's wallet that anger rose up again but he willed it away. Once the mess was cleaned up he slipped out to the administrative hallway leading to the main entrance. Slumped against the wall he heard running and saw Commissioner Jim Gordon leading seven officers down the corridor guns drawn.

"Stand down Jim," Cash called raising his hook hand, "It was only one and she's been subdued."  
"We weren't sure what to believe," Jim stated helping him up. He looked older than Cash remembered not to mention preoccupied.

"Can we talk somewhere?" Jim asked. After a long debriefing Jim sat back and smoothed his mustache.

"There's something else we need to discuss, some changes coming to Arkham. I was required to notify the senior staff first which I did a few hours ago. As of the end of the week Arkham will be transferred into the control of a private security firm called SECURE. A select handful of guards will stay on as an advisory and training team. I managed to guarantee that much and even that wasn't easy," Jim sighed.

"They're putting Arkham under martial law? Who's allowing this?" Cash asked in disbelief.

"This isn't just Arkham. They're locking the whole city down. This order came from the federal level and backed by the state, even the mayor's hands are tied. Under a state of emergency declaration after the Joker's latest stunt this city is now being run by the private sector."

"You can't let them do it."

"Some unknown, untraceable company just took this town over. We don't know their methods, their motivations, or their intentions, and the worst part is it's all perfectly legal. SECURE has taken over this city better than any supervillain ever has, and they've done it with no collateral damage so far. The entire police force received orders to continue work solely on, and I quote, custodial municipal maintenance."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means only ordinary police work. All caped activity will be handled by them. Between you and me, I think- we think they're going to purge the city."  
"This can't be. What about the big guy?" Cash grasped at straws desperately but Jim shook his head.

"He's in the wind along with the rest of the family. We've even had reports of attacks on villains. I know I don't have to ask but I need some good men in here."

"You don't have to ask Jim," Cash declared.

"Good. Good. I promise we'll fight this however we can. This city doesn't take any shit, and I don't think they know the pot they're stirring."

"That's…actually a frightening thought." Both men paused for a moment crafting personal nightmares of the weeks to come.

On the way back to the station Jim got a call on his cell phone from Harvey Bullock. Jim usually kept Harvey at the station when he needed to get out.

"I swear to God if you're drunk at Bonnie's instead of at GCPD-"

"Hey I haven't had a beer in a month and haven't seen Bonnie in two," Harvey protested and grew quiet for a moment, "Ok I let Wade take me out last night but just for one and we stuck to it. And I really haven't seen Bonnie."  
"Can I help you, Detective?"

"Turn your rookie around and head uptown to the Bradley Tower. Six dead."  
"Why didn't you radio this in?"

"Just get up here quick. Don't come in loud either." When they arrived at the high-rise another officer took them into an elevator and up to the penthouse. Jim found six women and men impeccably dressed around a large conference table. Harvey Bullock stood in the doorway huffing and puffing.

"Court of Owls," Jim observed, "or a good portion of them. I see why you didn't radio it in, but we're going to have to notify them."

"Can't we just say we thought it was a non-cape crime and are investigating it ourselves?" Harvey asked.

"We can't. If we do they'll know we know. We'll do the next best thing instead."  
"Which is?"  
"Play it Get Smart until we have enough evidence to tip our hand. From this point on we are an inept police force incapable of handling the city's crime that relies on external forces," Jim said smiling and turned to relay orders.

"What were we doing before?" Harvey asked removing his hat.

Fifteen minutes later the guard downstairs radioed the arrival of a SECURE response division. Jim shut the elevators down well before that so they were forced to take the stairs. Five more minutes were given to everyone gathering as much evidence as possible. Since each officer collected two samples of each piece of evidence they could fill multiple bags full of copies while the crime scene appeared to be intact. Jim sent his rookie and another officer down an elevator and waited for the SECURE team.

"What about the Court's security, Jim?" Harvey wondered taking in the room from a distance.

"They would have a Talon, at least one. However we've got no indications of a fight or any resistance really." The stairwell door opened and four armed troops cleared the hall followed by three plainclothes officers and their security director Brent Cosgille. Jim met the man days ago at first mention of SECURE by state representatives in a closed door meeting. A thin hard-faced man, Cosgille always seemed to say the right words like a politician's speech but how genuine he was remained to be seen. The stairs seemed to humble him as Jim expected.

"Commissioner Gordon, I'm sorry about having to take control of this investigation, but we have reason to believe these murders are tied to an Illuminati type group called the Court of Owls. Are you familiar with them?" Cosgille asked red faced.

"Officially no, off the record yes. That's why we called it in," Jim said.

"I see. Unfortunately we'll need to collect all the evidence you've gathered here, but I want to assure you we have the safety of Gotham as our first and ultimate priority."

"We're very happy to hear that," Jim stated, "We would like to offer any help we can cleaning this city up. I'm afraid it's been difficult over the years."

"We at SECURE understand and sympathize with the many tragedies Gotham has endured over the years. Our firm promises an in depth plan to change Gotham into something we can all proudly call home. With a city like this reformed Gotham will provide an example for other locations that peace is possible." Cosgille proclaimed. Jim nodded adjusting his belt.

"That certainly sounds ambitious, Director, but I'm afraid we're just some small time flatfoots trying to make it through the day. Please contact us if there's anything we can do to help. Now if you'll excuse us I promised my detective here some doughnuts." With a simple grin Harvey took his cue and extended his sweaty palm.

"Detective Harvey Bullock. I love doughnuts." They shook awkwardly and Cosgille retreated into the bloody boardroom.

"Jesus wept. You're a terrible actor, Jim,"

"Good thing I'm a cop then." Jim led them to the stairwell door when Harvey balked.

"There's no way I'm taking those down," Harvey protested.

"We're going up, Harv."

On the roof they stood looking over the river and cityscape below. Holding his hat on his head against the wind Harvey looked anxious. Eventually Jim's rookie, a kid by the name of Wingate, emerged from the stairwell carrying two sets of high powered binoculars. Wingate gave one to Jim and held the other pair for himself.

"What about me?" Harvey asked but Jim just shrugged. Harvey took the set from Wingate pretending to examine them.

"Yeah, nope. These aren't cleared for rookie use. They'll never work for you," Harvey explained putting the binoculars around his neck. Wingate looked annoyed but said nothing.

"I'm waiting on a phone call," Jim explained when he felt the two looking at him, "I wanted to ask the both of you something to get some other opinions. What would you think if SECURE succeeded? What if they manage to stop the metacrime we deal with every day? Should we still try to fight them?" Wingate spoke first.

"They won't. It'll turn into a war of attrition before they come close to winning. The world, the universe is much bigger than it used to be. There's no going back now."

"Logical train of thought, kid," Jim agreed looking to Harvey. The fat man sighed and turned his hat over in his hands.

"My grandfather lived a few hours outside Gotham on a farm with about a hundred acres. He worked ten to twelve hour days in a metal fabrication plant, and when he came home he'd work the land for another six to eight hours. My father and his brothers would talk about days he'd fall asleep on the tractor and go trailing off through the field. That man knew nothing but work so his family had a chance to do something else.

A few weeks ago I responded to a call of a possible jumper. The apartment complex wasn't nearly like this, around seven stories. I get to the roof and there was a girl maybe sixteen or so on the ledge. I just talked to her about my life for what seemed like hours. I told her about all the wonderful things I've seen, but I couldn't get any response out of her. By the end it seemed like a therapy session for me. I said anything and everything I could to keep her from jumping.

And then she jumped…but she didn't fall. She flew. She flew up over the towers and disappeared into the clouds. I don't know why it hit me so hard. It's not the first time I ever saw someone fly, but for some reason it made me think of my grandpa. If he could see what I saw then he'd know all the work in the world was worth it. An average person would look at our job and think 'How could you do that? Every day being out gunned, behind the eight ball' but it's not like that. It's amazing and frustrating and sad and inspiring and well it's everything. This city is everything to so many people. Good intentions or not we can't let them take Gotham away and that's exactly what they'd be doing." All three men stood quietly a while letting that settle. Jim's cellphone broke the silence.

"Go for insertion," Jim responded and hung up. For the past week the GCPD filtered in rumors of heroes and villains alike being struck down attempting to enter or exit Gotham. After contact with some remaining Outsiders, Jim decided to attempt a test of this invisible barrier. Tatsu Yamashiro aka Katana was one of a few reachable heroes left in Gotham. At that moment she perched atop the New Trigate Bridge overlooking the Gotham River. Tatsu closed her comm after Gordon's confirmation and lithely jumped from crossbeam to suspension wire. Sliding across a cable she judged herself to be nearing hallway and decided to pick up speed. From the top of Bradley Tower Jim, Harvey, and the rookie watched in anticipation.

Slowly drifting above the thick, grey clouds darkened and a rumble spread over the city. A bright red bolt shot from the sky blinding their binoculars. An explosion rocked the bridge taking a large chunk in the middle with it. A few cars couldn't stop in time and plunged into the river. Katana was nowhere to be seen. Jim threw down the binoculars and began radioing orders to the first responders waiting on either side of the bridge. He also sent in divers prepped and ready from the Coast Guard to retrieve anyone in the sunken cars. Luckily the river was low fourteen feet at its deepest.

"Goddammit! She didn't deserve that," Jim lamented to himself as he walked away from the others. He dialed multiple numbers on his phone and ordered a stand down presumably to other heroes set up for their own attempts around the city. Furiously Jim turned toward his rookie.

"You see that kid? This is what you get to look forward to the rest of your life. People who can see through walls, run faster than light, and shoot you down from three miles away, that's week one. Now you've got a private army with juiced up commandos doing your job better than you with access to God-knows-what kind of technology. How are you going to fight that, Wingate? How do you win?" Jim demanded at the rookie who stood at attention after the Commissioner's explosion. The young, raven-haired man touched the badge on his chest.

"I'll use this, sir." Jim deflated and remembered why he'd chosen Wingate as his shadow. He turned to Harvey and managed a smile.

"He reminds me of another uncompromising asshole I know," Harvey commented. They headed back towards the stairs as Harvey continued.

"You know Jim I'm with you to the end, and I know it's probably not the best time only…" he trailed off.

"Only what?" Jim asked.

"You were serious about getting those doughnuts right?"

The next evening Aaron Cash arrived at Arkham to be informed of the natural death of Phillip Cobb. Apparently he never woke up that morning. Cash finished the rounds and returned to the office to sit and think about the Signalman. So many stories and lessons from the old times gone in a heartbeat. Cash hadn't heard half of them and remembered even less. When he looked at the game box his heart sank. His choice wasn't necessarily conscious instead it was more like something he couldn't deny. A truth is that which we may not want to accept yet remains constant regardless of our own desires.

Cash carried the game board down the halls until he entered the medical ward. A bruised and bandaged Bruno watched him divide the checkers between them. When she opened her mouth to complain Cash raised a finger and furrowed his brow. Bruno rolled her eyes and crossed her arms like a child denied. However despite the nonverbal protests she played, and Cash added one final win into the column of the Signalman.


End file.
